(A short story)AT LAST, A real, nice, honest, beautiful man to have sex with. l'd had that thought, a month ago, when Bryn Stevens had first joined our unit — and I was still having it now, even after four weeks of his total indifference. Well, that’s not exactly true. Bryn had been civil and almost friendly towards me in all our workaday dealings; it was only when the wind blew even vaguely in the direction of sex that he seemed to cool right off. Which was a bit of a problem because I was in a heatwave for him! I hadn't felt like this in ages. Since my last relationship, I’d been stuck in the sexual doldrums. I hated casual flings and there didn’t seem to be anyone around to get in deeper with. I just didn’t fancy anybody enough. Until Bryn walked — or should I say limped — his way into my life. Our new training officer was a modern classic: a tall, dark and sensitive hunk with above-average intelligence and eyes as grey as thunderclouds. It was the idiosyncrasies, though, the

(A short story)I WAS STARKERS when the doorbell rang, and it was a condition I wasn’t too pleased about. Surely Ollie wasn’t here already? It was only midafternoon and my wine and pizza welcome night wasn’t due to start until seven at the earliest. I shouldn’t have felt cross, I know, but there’s nothing worse than being caught on the hop when you want all your preparations to be perfect. Poor old Ollie had been having such a rough time lately, I really wanted this evening to be a treat. ‘You’re far too early!’ I cried, flinging the flat door wide open... A split second later, I slammed it shut again, feeling a complete and utter fool. It hadn’t been Ollie on the doorstep, getting an eyeful from the gaping neckline of my robe. It'd been the two tall, dark and handsome not-quite-strangers who lived in the flat upstairs; the Italian brothers, Pietro and Paulo di Something or Other, whom I’d been fancying —as unobtrusively as I could — since they’d moved in a couple of months ago. ‘I

(A short story)FUNNY THINGS CAN happen when you're bored, they say ... And one afternoon last summer, in a large Birmingham hotel, boy was I bored! The lecture was ‘Maximising your Selling Potential through Eye Contact’ and the only thing my eyes wanted contact with was the inside of my eyelids. The speaker was short and tubby and dressed in Top Man meets Miami Vice. For my part, he’d no potential whatsoever ... The seminar delegates weren’t much better: the men were a bunch of yuppie pseuds and the women — with the single exception of a northern lass I’d teamed up with — were hard-faced chainstore power-dressers who’d do a damn sight more than make eyes to get a sale. Yeah, the selling game was just a great big con, and as soon as this lot was over, I was out of it! This particular lecture was the pits interest-wise, and I'd already tried the usual distractions. I'd counted the pin-stripes on the wimpish back in front of me. I’d drawn seven different doodles on my blank notepad.

(A short story)‘I'M NOT JUST a pretty face, you know!’ To be honest, I’m not even one. I’m more what you'd call ‘bonny’, but Ellis was either too kind or too clever to contradict me. ‘Neither am I,’ she murmured, not strictly responding to my tipsy rantings. Who cared anyway? She was smiling that smile again, the one that'd driven me mad for three weeks and posed far more questions than it answered. Three weeks ago Ellis Delaheigh had arrived from the States to take charge of Jackson-Wordsworth Associates, but for me she’d stirred up far more than the management structure! One look at the divine Ellis and my suspicions about myself grew ... Was I a lesbian or what? Ellis was everything I’m not. Tall, lean and vaguely angular, she had the lightfooted grace of a racehorse. All fine bones, fire and arrogance, she'd stride through the office like the Goddess Diana and confound everybody — particularly me! - with her sexy yet touch-me-not air. Sexuality ... One of those famous ‘grey

The carpet here was pure white, while the walls were white with the faintest suggestion of apple green, a tone that was complimented by the low green sofa and two winged chairs. In the middle of the room a large glass table top was supported by four green chinese dragons whose images were repeated in the draped and tied curtains that had been fastened in such a way as to allow in only a very little light. Rowena Farmer sank into one of the chairs and indicated that Harriet should sit on the sofa. It was lower than normal and she wished that she’d worn a longer skirt as hers rose above her thighs and left her sitting with her knees tightly together and angled to her left. She still had the suspicion that Rowena Farmer must be able to see right up her skirt if she wanted to, but the film star’s eyes never left Harriet’s face until she picked up the application and read it through as though to remind herself of its contents. At the far end of the drawing-room, directly opposite Harriet